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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27897925">It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like Home</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonshoespotterr/pseuds/moonshoespotterr'>moonshoespotterr</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Christmas, Christmas Decorations, Christmas Fluff, Fluff, HP Wireless Festive Minifest 2020, M/M, Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, Post-Second War with Voldemort</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 17:20:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,271</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27897925</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonshoespotterr/pseuds/moonshoespotterr</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sick of feeling like a third wheel, Harry decides to distract himself by decorating Grimmauld Place for the holidays. With the help of a snarky, ex-Slytherin saleswizard, he finds a way to make his house feel like a home.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>131</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Wireless Festive Minifest 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like Home</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunnyeclipses/gifts">sunnyeclipses</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was written for the Festive Wireless Minifest 2020 and inspired by the song "It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas"</p>
<p>Thank you to Sunnyeclipses for the prompt!<br/>"Draco owns a Christmas shop in Diagon Alley. Harry decides that the only way to make Grimmauld Place liveable is to decorate the absolute shit out of it for the holidays."</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Cheers,” Ron thanked as Harry deposited their next round of drinks on the worn, slightly sticky table. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The Leaky Cauldron was practically heaving tonight and Harry had been forced to elbow his way through the crowds of people celebrating that “Friday night feeling” to reach the bar. Not to mention the amount of glares he had to send at those who gaped at him with curious eyes and tried to strike up a conversation. No, he promptly shut them down. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It had been ten years now since the end of the war but Harry still had his fair share of admirers. It probably didn’t help that he’d become somewhat of a hermit in recent years. Ever since they’d published that awful article in the Daily Prophet, the one that had dragged his personal life into the public eye, complete with quotes from people he thought he could trust, Harry had been a lot more careful with who he spent time with.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Those select few were all gathered around him tonight. Hermione was regaling the group with her newest efforts to increase house elf rights within the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Ron was watching her dotingly, eyes slightly losing focus as if he had heard the story before but wanted to be supportive for his wife nonetheless. Ginny and Luna were snuggled together in the corner of the booth. They had never quite made it out of the honeymoon phase and so could always be found wrapped around each other.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Harry had expected it to feel strange at first, Ginny getting together with Luna, but after their failed go of having a relationship had fizzled into nothing, they had agreed that they were much better off as friends and decided to put the whole mess behind them.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The four of them were the only thing that had kept Harry sane when things had got really bad. When his house was flooded with letters from adoring fans and heated critics they had all camped out together in the living room at Grimmauld Place. Ginny had passed round a bottle of firewhisky while Hermione increased the magical wards and Ron and Luna toasted marshmallows over the pile of burning letters. When Harry had a quarter life crisis and decided he didn’t want to be an auror anymore, they had all helped him draft his resignation letter (with more firewhiskey from Ginny, of course). </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His friends were all incredible and Harry didn’t know where he’d be without them. There was only one thing, really. Sometimes, usually when he was several pints down, he felt a bit like a fifth wheel. After their nights out together, Harry would trudge home alone to Grimmauld Place and imagine what it might be like if he had someone to bring along, to cuddle up to in the booth and hold hands with under the table. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The closer it got to Christmas, the more the feeling weighed down on Harry. He knew that Hermione and Ron would never say anything, but sometimes Harry felt like he was intruding - he was always popping over for tea and crashing on their sofa - and Harry didn’t think it would be long until they were ready to start their own family. A flash of jealousy shot through him. He’d always wanted a big family but he would settle for someone special to share the holidays with. Fat chance of that, he thought.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Feeling a bit maudlin, Harry rejoined the conversation.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You should see some of the shit she’s put in our Christmas decorations box,” Ginny exclaimed. “I swear there’s an actual cock in there!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, there is,” Luna chimed in cheerfully. “Centaur penises are supposed to represent good luck and celebration. It’s been in my family for generations.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ginny shivered in mock disgust. “And here I thought I’d never have to look at another cock again. No offense, Harry,” she added with a cheeky wink.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“None taken,” Harry chuckled.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As Luna went on to describe other weird and wonderful decorations she’d inherited over the years, a flash of inspiration hit Harry. He should decorate Grimmauld Place for Christmas. In previous years he’d never bothered. After all, he’d spent most of his time at Ron and Hermione’s place or at the Burrow so there was never really any need. This year though, Harry felt like taking some time for himself would be good and maybe help to shift the notion that he needed someone special to enjoy the holidays.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Decision made, Harry made plans to explore the attic in the morning. He was sure there were some old Christmas decorations hidden away in there somewhere.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>H/D/H/D</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Harry groaned and wiped a sleeve across his face. He had spent all morning digging around in the dusty attic at Grimmauld Place and, so far, all he’d managed to uncover in the way of Christmas decorations had been a few leathery elf heads with cracked baubles looped around their bat-like ears. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Pulling open another box and losing hope by the minute, Harry heard a voice calling him from downstairs.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m up here,” he yelled, grimacing as he unearthed a string of what appeared to be literal fairy lights, complete with petrified cornish pixies, from the box.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What are you doing all the way up here?” Hermione’s bushy head appeared through the hatch as she climbed the ladder.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Harry shrugged, chucking the pixie string back into the box. “Thought it might be nice to decorate for the holidays,” he grumbled. “But there’s fuck all up here.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione looked at him curiously. “Why don’t we go downstairs and get a cup of tea?” she asked. “Besides, you’ve got Merlin-knows-what all over your face.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>After thoroughly cleaning what he thought might be desiccated house elf from his face, Harry joined Hermione at the long oak table in the kitchen. She handed him his favourite mug and looked at him with a soft expression.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Harry, is everything ok?” At his questioning glance, she continued. “It’s just… you’ve never wanted to decorate Grimmauld Place before. Not that I think it’s a bad idea. I actually think it’ll be really good for you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Harry sighed and set his mug down on the table, trailing his fingers over the grooves in the wood and avoiding his friend’s eyes. “I guess it’s just never felt very festive here. And I think I thought that if I actually did the house up for Christmas then it would make it even more obvious that it’s just me. The thought of putting myself out there again is terrifying but, honestly, I just don’t want to be alone anymore.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, Harry,” she reached a warm brown hand over to cover his. “It’s never just you. You know that you always have Ron and I. No matter what happens.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I know, Hermione,” he reassured, giving her hand a squeeze in response.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Harry fetched some custard creams from the back of the cupboard and returned to find Hermione staring into space, her mug hanging limply from her fingers and a calculating look on her face.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh oh,” Harry chuckled. “Who’s in trouble?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione startled and feigned ignorance. “Hm?” she questioned, taking a sip of her tea. “I really do think you should decorate this place for Christmas, Harry.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Honestly, Hermione. The stuff I found in the attic is the least festive pile of shit I’ve ever seen.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No, no,” Hermione flapped a hand at him. “Not with </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>rubbish.” Her brown eyes twinkled mischievously. “No, there’s a new home decoration shop that’s just opened off Diagon Alley. I’m sure you could find something suitable there.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Harry paused. He felt like he was being set up for something - when Hermione got that look in her eye it usually spelt trouble for someone - but he couldn’t think of a reason not to.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine, I’ll check it out,” he agreed reluctantly and slightly suspiciously.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione all but vibrated with excitement in her seat. “Good,” she nodded with mock calm. “Well do come by and let me know how it goes.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Harry nodded and couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d just made a big mistake.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>H/D/H/D</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Harry eyed the building in front of him curiously. He searched for any sign of what had made Hermione so excited but couldn’t detect anything out of the ordinary - no posters for elf liberation or flyers for singles events. So far so good.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The shopfront she had directed him to had a wide, bay window that displayed an assortment of Christmas decorations, ornaments and knick knacks, and the wooden sign that hung over the door read </span>
  <em>
    <span>Home, Enchanted</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As he pushed open the door, a bell jingled merrily, signalling his entrance. Glancing around, Harry could see even more Christmas decorations piled high on every available surface. Twinkling fairy lights, these ones not including expired magical creatures, flashed along to the sound of a Celestina Warbeck song playing from a nearby gramophone, and hanging from the rafters were dozens of delicate, glass baubles, each containing a miniature snow storm that swirled around lazily inside. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Harry jumped slightly when a voice called out from a room behind the counter. “I’ll be right out.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wait. He knew that voice. Was that…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Malfoy?” Harry demanded of the empty room just as the blond in question entered.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy paused upon seeing Harry, his step faltering briefly before he continued to the counter. “How may I help you, Potter?” Malfoy asked blandly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Harry stared, dumbfounded, as his brain tried to catch up to what his eyes were seeing. “What are you doing here?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy raised a pale eyebrow. “I work here, Potter. Now, how may I help you?” he asked again, as if questioning Harry’s ability to answer a simple question. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Which was probably fair. The word “work” coming from Malfoy’s mouth was so incongruous that Harry didn’t quite know how to process it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>work </span>
  </em>
  <span>here?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy rolled his eyes. “For Merlin’s sake, Potter. Yes, I work here. This is my shop. Now, for the third time. How. May. I. Help. You?” he gritted out.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Harry could see the battle taking place within Malfoy between losing his patience and kicking Harry out of the shop or trying to maintain some shred of politeness towards a potential customer.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Er,” Harry mumbled uncertainly. “Well, I, er, need some Christmas decorations?” He winced internally at how stupid he sounded.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, as you can see, Potter,” Malfoy held his arms out dramatically, “this is a decoration shop. And as it’s coming up to Christmas, I think you might just be in luck.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy stepped around the counter, ignoring Harry’s flinch as he leaned past the Gryffindor and began pulling various decorations from the shelves behind.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What sort of thing are you looking for?” Malfoy asked. “We have lights, baubles, wreaths, stockings, candles, tinsel…” He trailed off at the lost, panicked look on Harry’s face. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Harry had no idea that it was so complicated. He thought he’d just stroll in, pick something and be done with the whole thing. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Erm,” Harry croaked, feeling more than a bit overwhelmed. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He couldn’t lie to himself - the presence of his schoolboy rival had thrown him and Harry felt like a large amount of his brain power was still stuck on </span>
  <em>
    <span>What is Malfoy doing here? Did Malfoy say that he worked here? Did Malfoy really say that it was </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>his </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>shop?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Surprisingly, rather than teasing Harry, the Slytherin instead appeared to take pity on him. He picked up a coiled string of lights and a box of delicate, glass baubles that glittered and reflected the weak December sun across the room in pinpricks of light. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Here are a few good starter items,” Malfoy suggested. “If it’s alright with you, I recommend trying these first.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>At Harry’s vague nod, Malfoy rang up the items on the till and packed them into a small fabric bag adorned with the shop name. “If you decide you’d like something else, come back and I’ll see what I can do.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy held the bag out to Harry, who could only stare back, mouth hanging open slightly. If his brain was struggling earlier, it was having a full system failure now. Draco Malfoy working in a shop. Draco Malfoy being sensitive to Harry's obvious panic. Draco Malfoy telling Harry to come back if he needed more help.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>In a bit of a confused daze, Harry mumbled, “Er, yeah. Thanks.” He took the bag from Malfoy’s outstretched hand and left the shop without looking back.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>H/D/H/D</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Later, knocking the bright red door of Hermione and Ron’s cottage, Harry realised that he had no idea how he’d got there.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He jumped when the door opened, even though he knew from experience that it was what doors normally did, and met Hermione’s cautious gaze.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She led him into the kitchen, popped two mugs of tea on the counter and asked, “So. I’m guessing from the bag that you followed my advice?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Huh?” Harry blinked down at the bag in question, his mind still stuck in the bright, glittering shop. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, I did. Malfoy was there,” he finished weakly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm? Is that right? How was it seeing him again?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hermione?” Harry asked suspiciously as something clicked together in his still slightly dazed head. “You knew he worked there, didn’t you?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione bit her lip nervously. “Yes, but-” she held up a hand to stop Harry’s outburst, “I’ve been into his shop a few times now and he’s always seemed, well, cordial, and I thought he might be able to help you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Harry huffed. “Well, I guess he seemed ok,” he admitted. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“See? I told you,” Hermione beamed at him. “So, when are you going back?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Er, I’m kind of sorted,” he raised the bag pointedly. “Malfoy picked out some stuff for me.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh psh, you’ve hardly got enough in there for one mantlepiece. You’ll need way more than that if you want to decorate the entire house.” Hermione smirked. “It’s almost like he wanted you to go back.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Harry guffawed. “Yeah right, Hermione. Anyway, I’m sure what I’ve got will do the job.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>H/D/H/D</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It turned out that what Harry had did </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>do the job. True to Hermione’s word, the lights and baubles that hung merrily over the mantlepiece in his living room left the rest of Grimmauld Place untouched and somehow looking even more miserable by comparison. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Harry grumbled, realising that he’d have to go back to Malfoy’s shop to get more supplies. He couldn’t put his finger on the nervous feeling in his stomach and decided that it must be due to Malfoy’s strange, un-Malfoy-like behaviour. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t like they hadn’t seen each other since the end of the war. Sure, they had run into each other a few times, crossing paths in the Ministry or on Diagon Alley, but  it wasn’t like they ever had to speak to each other. It hadn’t been just the two of them since… </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Harry shivered as he realised that the last time that he and Malfoy had been alone together had been the girls’ bathroom in sixth year. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He shook the thought away - he did </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> want to think of that right now. Harry wasn’t sure he could handle that memory on top of trying to navigate this strange and unnerving new version of Malfoy.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Before he changed his mind and resigned himself to Grimmauld Place remaining cold and miserable, Harry grabbed his cloak and apparated to Diagon Alley. As he opened the door, the merry jingle of the bell made Harry jump slightly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Er, hi,” Harry greeted, running a hand through his messy, wind-swept hair to hide his nervousness.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy looked up from a large ledger that rested upon the shop counter, an elegant peacock feather quill dangling from his fingers. “Potter. What are you doing here? Were the items you purchased not to your satisfaction?” he asked with a slight frown.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No, no, they were great,” Harry hurried to reassure. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Since when do I want to reassure Malfoy?</span>
  </em>
  <span> “I just needed some more stuff and you said to come back if...” he trailed off, suddenly unsure.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh. Yes, well,” Malfoy smoothed down his robes and put on what Harry was starting to recognise as his customer-face. “What can I do for you?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, the lights I got last time were nice. And the baubles. So I guess I’ll just have some more of those?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy tsked. “However nice the lights and baubles may be, Potter, you can hardly decorate your whole house using them exclusively. We’ll find you some complimentary pieces. Now,” he pulled a small notebook from under the counter and held his quill aloft expectantly, “do you have a colour scheme? A particular theme you’re going for?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Harry stared back at him blankly. He hadn’t even known that there </span>
  <em>
    <span>were</span>
  </em>
  <span> themes for decorations. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Er, Christmas?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “That’s not a theme, Potter. I forgot that you’re entirely clueless when it comes to this,” Malfoy commented, placing his quill back onto the counter delicately. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He looked at Harry thoughtfully, as if trying to make his mind up about something. Then Malfoy raised a hand and pressed his fingers against his forehead dramatically.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t believe I’m about to do this,” he sighed. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Harry frowned in confusion. He was going to ask just </span>
  <em>
    <span>what </span>
  </em>
  <span>Malfoy was about to do when the Slytherin looked up at him, a determined look in his face.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Follow me, Potter,” he commanded and, with a swirl of his robes that could rival Snape, Malfoy disappeared into the back room of the shop.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Harry hesitated briefly, rationalising that Malfoy was unlikely to attack him at his place of work but double checking his wand’s place in its holster nonetheless, before heading after the blond.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The room he entered appeared to be used as both an office and a workshop. A large table dominated one side of the room, scattered with bits of materials and half finished projects, and to the other side stood a beautifully carved desk. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy sat at the desk and directed Harry to a chair beside him. When Harry was seated, Malfoy presented the small notebook once again and set it on the desk.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you know that I used to work at Ollivander’s?” Malfoy enquired.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Harry hadn’t been expecting that. He thought that Malfoy had brought him back here to tell him how useless he was without the risk of other customers overhearing. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Um, no.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy nodded. “Yes, well. I was terrible at the actual wandlore so it didn’t last very long. But what I did enjoy was the people - reading them, finding out what made them tick, figuring out what they were looking for.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s that got to do with me?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hush, Potter. I’m getting to that part,” Malfoy reprimanded. “When I opened </span>
  <em>
    <span>Home, Enchanted</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I realised that some customers needed a bit of extra support. Similar to at Ollivander’s, sometimes an expert hand is required in helping people find what’s right for them. So, on occasion, I offer a more personal service,” he paused, waiting for Harry’s reaction.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Harry frowned. Was Malfoy offering to help him? The Slytherin probably had some ulterior motive - publicity from saying that the Chosen One had shopped at his store, perhaps. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hang on, let me get this straight. This “personal service” would be you picking out more stuff for me?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy sighed exasperatedly. “It’s a bit more complicated than that, Potter. First of all I’d have to get to know you. Find out more about your house and what you’re looking for. That’s why I hesitated to offer it to you initially. I wasn’t sure if you’d be interested, what with our… troubled history,” he finished tactfully.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Harry paused. On the one hand, he could really do with the help and, from the look of the glittering store out front, it seemed as though Malfoy really knew his stuff. On the other hand, it would mean spending more time with his school boy rival.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The thought didn’t repulse Harry as much as he thought it would. In fact, he almost felt intrigued to discover this new Malfoy. He definitely wasn’t the same pointy prat Harry knew in school. Well, the pointiness hadn’t gone away, but there was something different and Harry felt himself compelled to find out.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ignoring the nagging voice in his head that reminded him that the last time he felt compelled to find anything out about Draco Malfoy he’d become somewhat of an obsessed stalker, Harry found himself nodding.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright,” he said simply, hiding his smile at the look of surprise that passed quickly over Malfoy’s face. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He hadn’t been expecting me to say yes, Harry realised. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Good. I mean,” Malfoy cleared his throat, “very well. Let’s get started then.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy opened the notebook and smoothed down the front of his robes. He does that when he’s nervous, Harry thought, wondering what he’d got himself into.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So, tell me about yourself, Potter.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Harry raised his eyebrows at the Slytherin who waved him away impatiently..</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, yes, I’m well aware that we attended school together for several years. But you’ve got to admit that we hardly knew each other and I’m sure you’ve changed plenty since we left school. So,” Malfoy looked at Harry expectantly, quill poised, “Tell me about yourself.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Harry sighed. “Fine. Erm, I guess there’s not much to tell. I used to be an Auror and now I’m not anymore. I live by myself. I go to quidditch matches and hang out with my friends. That’s pretty much it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy’s eyes bored into him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What? There’s honestly nothing much more to say,” Harry added defensively.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Potter, if you’re not even going to try then you might as well leave right now rather than wasting my time. You’ve just told me absolutely nothing. I could have gathered as much information by reading the society pages of the Daily Prophet.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What else do you want me to say, Malfoy?” Harry argued, feeling his temper rising.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy huffed. “How about why you quit being an Auror? How about why you live alone? How about why, by all accounts in the media, you’ve become a recluse who only spends time with a handful of people?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Harry crossed his arms. “None of that is any of your business. You’re decorating my house, Malfoy. You’re not my bloody Mind Healer.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Potter,” Malfoy sighed impatiently. “I can’t help you unless you help me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Help you?! How will me explaining that I quit the Aurors because I had panic attacks in the field help? Just the thought of fighting another dark wizard fucked me up so much that I was a complete liability. Other people were put in danger because I couldn’t handle it. Does that help, Malfoy? Are you happy now?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Harry panted, taking a grim satisfaction at the shocked look on Malfoy’s face.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Potter, I-” Malfoy started apologetically.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Forget it,” Harry interrupted. He scowled and abruptly stood up from his chair, scraping the legs harshly against the floor. “I can’t do this. I’ve got to go.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Not looking back, Harry rushed out of the shop, determinedly ignoring the disappointed feeling in his chest that he wouldn’t be able to discover this new Malfoy after all.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>H/D/H/D</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Harry wasn’t moping, no matter what Hermione said. It was just that he felt so disappointed in himself for how he had reacted to Malfoy’s questions. It had been all too easy to fall back into their familiar antagonism and, like a sore tooth that you kept prodding with your tongue, Harry couldn’t help himself. There was something about the Slytherin that got Harry’s back up and set his nerves on edge.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He knew that he should really go back and apologise - Malfoy had only been trying to help him, after all - but Harry didn’t quite have the courage to face him yet.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ok, so maybe he </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>moping.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As Harry wandered through the empty house, studiously avoiding looking at the festively decorated mantelpiece that stood lonely and mocking in his living room, an owl arrived bearing a letter.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Dear Potter,</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Firstly, I’d like to apologise for what happened last week. Although what I said was true - I do need to know more about you in order to help - I approached the exercise in a manner that was insensitive.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Secondly, if you’re willing to give me another chance, I have an idea that I think will work better for you.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Please come by at your earliest convenience. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Kind regards,</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Draco Malfoy</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Harry’s eyebrows shot up under his fringe - he never thought he’d see the day when Malfoy would be apologising to him - but the surprise was quickly replaced by guilt. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I’m the one who should be apologising, Harry reprimanded himself. If Malfoy can do it, then so can I.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Mere minutes later, Harry was striding determinedly into </span>
  <em>
    <span>Home, Enchanted</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He faltered briefly at the almost pleased expression on Malfoy’s face. It was subtle, a hardly-there upturn of the lips and crinkling in the corner of his eyes, but it felt alien directed at Harry and made him pause.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The expression shuttered into a cool mask as Harry approached the counter.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Malfoy, I wanted to say that I’m sorry,” he blurted out. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that when you were only trying to help.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy sniffed and looked down intently at his fingernails. “Yes, well. I did rather think we were past all that. I thought that, perhaps, we had both grown up enough to start again.” He looked at Harry hopefully.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>In response, Harry held out his hand. Malfoy stared at it for a few seconds, eyes slightly glassy as if transported back to the moment he had offered Harry his hand in friendship all those years ago, and hesitantly took Harry’s hand in his. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was softer than Harry had imagined (not that he had ever imagined holding Malfoy’s hand!), warmer and over </span>
  <em>
    <span>way </span>
  </em>
  <span>too quickly. Harry coughed and ran his hands through his hair in an attempt to hide the slight blush that was creeping over his face. He knew this was a strange reaction to shaking another person’s hand but now was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>the time to think about that in more detail.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Harry was relieved when Malfoy cleared his throat.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, now we’ve got that out of the way, I actually did have something to talk to you about. If you’d like to join me…” he trailed off, gesturing behind the counter to the office.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They took their original seats and Malfoy retrieved the small notebook once more. He seemed nervous, fiddling with his quill and flicking through his notebook, each page filled with an elegant script.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So, I’ve concluded that the main problem with our last conversation was a lack of trust. How can I expect you to tell me about your personal life when you don’t trust me? I asked you personal questions about parts of your life that only a few select people are privy to.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Harry frowned in confusion. “So what’s your idea? I can’t just decide to trust you, Malfoy.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Damn it, Harry chastised himself. Only a few minutes in and he already had his back up again. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No, no, Potter,” Malfoy dismissed with a wave of his hand. “What I’m proposing is making things a bit more equal between us. So,” he took a deep, steadying breath. “After the war, I spent six months doing community service. Any menial job you can think of, I did it. Cleaning fireplaces at the Ministry, delivering internal post at Gringotts (goblins have a terrible fear of owls, you know), picking up rubbish in Diagon Alley. I did it all.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Harry stared, transfixed, and nodded for Malfoy to continue. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy swallowed hard. “After that, no one would give me a job. Not that I really needed one - the Ministry had taken a lot in reparations but not that much - but I wanted to do something for myself, away from the stain that was my family’s reputation. Finally, Ollivander offered me a job. I couldn’t believe it. After all those months as a prisoner in the Manor cellars, he still thought I was worth taking a chance on. The old fool,” he chuckled fondly. “Whatever it was he saw in me wasn’t talent in wandlore, that’s for sure. But I’ll be forever grateful because it helped me to get to where I am now.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy glanced at Harry nervously. Harry could only look back at him, shock and slight admiration written across his face. He had had no idea that Malfoy had worked so hard to separate himself from his family, to build a new life that was his. Not only that, but confessing all of that to Harry must have taken guts; more guts than Harry had ever thought Malfoy possessed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>After realising that Harry wasn’t going to laugh at him, Malfoy straightened in his chair and picked up his quill, turning to Harry expectantly. “So, Potter. Why did you stop being an Auror?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Where the question previously had inflamed Harry’s nearly two decade old desire to argue with the Slytherin, this time around he took a calming breath. Fair was fair, he supposed, and Malfoy had definitely done his share of opening up about the past.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I guess it just wasn’t what I wanted anymore,” Harry said simply, and continued at Malfoy’s encouraging nod. “I think I’d spent so much of my life fighting dark magic that doing it after the war just felt wrong. I thought, why can’t it be someone else’s turn for a change. And then I realised that it could be. So I left. To be honest, I really wasn’t cut out for it anyway.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Not to push you too far again, but I remember you saying that you had panic attacks?” Malfoy asked, jotting down a few notes.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Er, yeah,” Harry admitted, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He’d learned long ago that it was nothing to be embarrassed about but he still found it hard to talk about his mental health. Even with his closest friends, nevermind an ex-nemesis. “Got myself and my partner into a bit of trouble in the field with those. I’m surprised they didn’t kick me out before I got the chance to quit.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I’m sure that my opinion counts for very little, but it sounds to me like you were very brave to leave. There are plenty of people out there who stay in situations they’re unhappy in to save face or because it’s what’s expected of them. Present company included,” Malfoy admitted with a self-deprecating smirk.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Before Harry knew what he was doing, he leaned forward with a reassuring smile to catch Malfoy’s eye. “Not now though. It doesn’t sound like you’re that kind of person anymore.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy looked at Harry curiously. “Maybe not,” he agreed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Feeling a familiar heat flood his cheeks, Harry hurriedly leaned back in his chair.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I think that’s enough of that for one day,” Malfoy decided. “But thank you. It may not seem like it now, but all of this is really important for me to know to be able to help you. If you’d like, you can come back again?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Tomorrow?” Harry suggested.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Tomorrow,” Malfoy nodded and Harry left the store that afternoon with a small smile that he, if asked, wouldn’t quite be able to explain.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>H/D/H/D</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>In his mind, Harry was beginning to refer to the back office of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Home, Enchanted</span>
  </em>
  <span> as his and Malfoy’s room. In there the next day, Malfoy launched into his next confession and Harry listened, eagerly awaiting the next puzzle piece to feed his bubbling obsession with the blond.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I once asked you why you lived alone. This wasn’t intended to be a judgement of any kind. I live by myself, above the shop actually. I’m sure my mother imagined that by now I’d be happily settled down with some high society, pureblood witch or another but, well, she’s never been very impressed with my lifestyle or my taste in partners, even though she grudgingly accepts it, so why start trying to please her now,” Malfoy drawled sardonically.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Harry’s heart jumped erratically in his chest. Was Malfoy trying to say that he..? Was Malfoy gay?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Anyway, enough about me,” Malfoy announced, interrupting Harry’s train of thought. “Your turn. You live alone at Grimmauld Place. Why? I was adamant that you and Ginny Weasley were a sure thing.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Harry grimaced. “Heh, didn’t quite work out. We both realised that we weren’t right for each other pretty quickly. I think all the drama of the war and being separated for so long just hid a lot of the ways we weren’t really compatible. Anyway, we’re still friends. She’s actually with Luna now.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Lovegood?” Malfoy asked with a raised eyebrow. “Well good for her. And another member for your red-head appreciation club, I imagine.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Actually, I prefer blonds.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Harry had no idea what made him say that. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, his face flushed a bright red. Although, when he thought about it, he found that it was the truth. On the rare occasions that he donned a glamour and went to a nightclub for an unsatisfying hookup, he always seemed to choose the blonds.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Deciding that saying anything else would make the situation worse, Harry wisely kept his mouth shut and watched for Malfoy’s reaction. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Is that so?” Malfoy smirked, shooting Harry a teasing smile. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind when selecting your Christmas decorations.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>H/D/H/D</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Over the next few weeks, Harry found himself spending more and more time at Malfoy’s store. The back room, their room, felt like a space out of time. Outside on the busy streets of Diagon Alley, people bustled from shop to shop, preparing for Christmas and taking advantage of the numerous stalls that had popped up along the cobbled lanes selling roasted chestnuts and hot mulled butterbeer.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But inside their room, it was as if none of the outside world existed. It was inside their room, swapping stories of childhood escapades and future dreams, that Harry realised that he’d never actually known the real Malfoy. What was even more shocking to Harry was that he found that this Malfoy was one that he very much wanted to get to know better.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There was something about him, so different from how he was in school. Of course, there were still traces of the old Malfoy - his sharp wit and barbed jokes were still there but they seemed much more endearing when directed at Harry in humour rather than in anger.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There was only one thing holding Harry back from </span>
  <em>
    <span>doing </span>
  </em>
  <span>something about his newfound admiration and interest in the blond and it was that he had </span>
  <em>
    <span>no </span>
  </em>
  <span>idea how Malfoy felt about him. There had been little hints from the Slytherin - teasing smiles and slightly-too-long touches - but Harry had been burned before and wanted to be absolutely certain before he made any sort of move. And anyway, Harry was wary of doing anything that might disturb the tentative friendship they seemed to have developed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And so he waited, becoming so engrossed in their conversations that he almost forgot why they were doing this in the first place. Which is why, when Malfoy announced one day that he finally had enough information to help decorate Grimmauld Place, Harry felt so conflicted, as if a carpet had been pulled out from under his feet. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh. That’s… that’s great,” Harry mumbled uncertainly, wondering if this meant they weren’t going to see each other anymore. He felt suddenly panicked at the thought.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ignorant to Harry’s inner turmoil, Malfoy continued cheerfully. “Yes, and don’t you worry! I’ll gather everything up this afternoon and you can come back tomorrow to check it all over and make sure you’re happy. Then you can finally enjoy your home for the holidays.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His home. The decorations. It all seemed like such a low priority next to spending more time getting to know Malfoy. Feeling an overwhelming sense of awkwardness - he had never been very good with words, never mind when talking about his feelings - Harry stumbled through his agreement.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, that sounds good. I’ll, er… I’ll see you tomorrow then, I guess.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He wasn’t sure he could be here anymore. Not with the way Malfoy seemed so happy about their arrangement nearly being over. Feeling the urgent need to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>anywhere else</span>
  </em>
  <span> and with his head down to keep Malfoy from noticing his disappointment, Harry rushed from the shop and into the blustery, snowy world outside.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>H/D/H/D</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m telling you, Hermione,” Harry insisted despondently, “you should have seen how happy he was. I bet he can’t wait to be done with me and to stop listening to my stupid stories.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione rolled her eyes at his dramatics. “Harry, I’m sure that’s not true. He was probably just pleased that he could finally help you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Harry huffed. “Yeah, pleased he could finally have my galleons and use my name for publicity.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Now you’re just being silly,” Hermione chastised.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Harry crossed his arms over his chest like a child. He was stubbornly and desperately holding onto the thought that Malfoy didn’t want anything more to do with him. The way he saw it, if he didn’t have any hope to begin with, then he couldn’t be let down.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>After listening to him moan through the floo the previous evening, Hermione had shown up at Grimmauld Place bright and early the next morning and dragged Harry out for breakfast. He’d tried to resist, as he would have much rather been moping around his empty house, but she was hearing none of it. So here he was, in a quaint Muggle cafe nearby to Hermione and Ron’s cottage, sulkily pushing a half-eaten omelette around on his plate. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You know, Harry. I think you should say something to him. Tell Malfoy how you feel,” Hermione commented casually.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Harry shot her an unamused look.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m serious!” she insisted. “You’ll never know unless you try.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, right. And then he can reject me, laugh at me and sell the story to the Daily Prophet, outing me to the entire magical community. Oh, wait” Harry added sarcastically. “Someone already did that.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione leaned forward to catch his eye. “Hey. I know. I was there, remember? I know you’ve had some really shitty exes. But I also know that it’s not good for you to lock yourself away from people. Just because there are some utter shits out there doesn’t mean that everyone’s like that. And I don’t think that’s Malfoy. Not anymore.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Harry shifted uncomfortably, suitably chastised for his outburst. “I’ll think about it, ok?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure,” she nodded and smiled supportively.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>After they had finished their meals, although Harry couldn’t eat much more due to the nerves wriggling around in his belly, they said their goodbyes. Harry had to pop back to Grimmauld Place before heading to Malfoy’s shop for perhaps the final time.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They parted in a side alley next to the cafe to avoid the eyes of Muggles and, before she apparated away, Hermione sent him a knowing wink. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Good luck,” she advised mysteriously.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Good luck for what? There was no way he was going to act on his feelings for Malfoy, no matter how much Hermione insisted. Frowning in exasperation, Harry apparated back home. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He landed in the hallway of Grimmauld Place and froze. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The walls were illuminated with warm white fairy lights which twinkled merrily against the wallpaper. Sprigs of holly and pine cones adorned the door frames and gave the room a rich, earthy, inviting smell. The staircase bannister was dripping with real icicles, enchanted to stay frozen and glistening even in the cosy warmth of the house. The whole thing was like a scene from a fairy tale. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Harry stared, gobsmacked, wondering for a second if he’d apparated into the wrong house. A muffled noise from the living room grabbed his attention. He followed the noise and came upon the sight of Draco Malfoy putting the finishing touches on an enormous Christmas tree. Harry couldn’t lie, the sight of Malfoy in his home surrounded by lights and tinsel and baubles lit a warm feeling in his chest.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Malfoy?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The man in question jumped in fright and turned to Harry with a hand clutched dramatically to his chest. “Fuck! Potter! I didn’t realise you’d be back so soon.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Harry glanced around the room, hoping to find something that would cause this whole situation to make more sense. “Er, what are you doing here?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy cleared his throat nervously. “Well, I, er, picked out your decorations, you see.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, but I thought I was coming to collect them this afternoon.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, well, I wanted to bring them over personally,” Malfoy explained, smoothing down the front of his robes in which Harry now recognised as a nervous gesture.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“But why?” Harry asked, bewildered. Was Malfoy in such a hurry to get rid of him that he brought everything over early? Was he just going to sneak in and out again to avoid even seeing Harry?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Because, er… well,” Malfoy trailed off. Upon seeing the hurt and confusion in Harry’s eyes, he muttered “fuck it” and stepped closer.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Harry’s heart thudded wildly in his chest as Malfoy moved forward, stopping right in front of him. Placing a hand gently on his cheek, Malfoy leaned in slowly, giving Harry plenty of time to move away, but Harry could only stare back with wide eyes.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When Malfoy’s lips met his, Harry stopped thinking altogether. It took a few seconds for his brain to catch up to his body, but when it did he surged forward, throwing his arms around Malfoy’s neck and pressing himself against the man.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When they parted, Malfoy rested his forehead against Harry’s.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I came over because I wanted to do something special for you to show you how I feel,” he explained earnestly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Harry laughed, giddy from the adrenaline still coursing through him. “And here I thought you wanted to be rid of me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy leaned back to look at him with a raised eyebrow. “Are you daft? I’ve been sending you so many signals you could have seen them from another planet.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve been told I’m not the most observant person.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“In that case, maybe I should be a bit more clear in the future,” Malfoy smirked, leaning forward to press his body flush against Harry’s to make his point as obvious as possible. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Harry gasped at the feel of Malfoy - </span>
  <em>
    <span>all</span>
  </em>
  <span> of Malfoy - pressed against him. “I think I have to agree with you there.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy smirked. “Thought you might. But,” he stepped back and Harry missed the feel of him immediately, “we have all the time in the world for that. Now, why don’t you give me the grand tour of your house? I heard you had some stylish and devilishly handsome man decorate it for you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Harry chuckled and led Malfoy out of the living room by the hand. As they explored the house together, stopping occasionally to come together under the numerous sprigs of mistletoe dotted around, Harry realised that he’d been living at Grimmauld Place alone for so long but had never really stopped thinking of the house as Sirius’. It had never been </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But now, with Malfoy’s help - with his teasing smiles and wicked laughter - it was beginning to feel less like a house and a lot more like, well, a home.</span>
</p>
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